


Memoirs from the Downfall - Act I. Mirage

by Pfefferminze



Series: Memoirs from the Downfall Verse [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Chantry Issues, F/M, Family Drama, Gen, IT'S ANGST OK, Multi, Pre-Canon, References to Canon, Romance, Will add more tags as we go, as close to canon as possible
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2019-10-25 23:56:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17735096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pfefferminze/pseuds/Pfefferminze
Summary: Kirkwall is a theatre that never sleeps; if you pay enough attention, the scenes of everyday life combine in a multitude of plays. Yet, burdened by the summer heat, Varric Tethras seems unable to find around him a story that satisfies his thirst for inspiration. Perhaps, the solution is to be found digging under stones for too long unturned, uncovering the truth about the family that has reigned as protagonist of the most discussed tragedy in Kirkwall during the early Dragon Age. Before Hawke could rise, the Amells fell.





	1. Prologue

**Smash.**

 

The unmistakable noise of glass shattering on the floor in the distance resonates all the way to his room.

This isn’t gonna end well.

“Oy, mind your step, filthy dog lord.”

There it is.

“Watch your mouth, filthy bilge rat.”

Elite patrons are made into such eloquent men by the inescapable suffocating Solace heat at the Hanged Man. Could be the title of one of his next books.

**Slap.**

Here we go.

Punch. Chairs scratching on the floor. Another punch. Feet quickly tapping across the room. Kick. Something hits a table. Mugs fall on the floor. Rivaini laughs. Corff shouts to cut it from behind the bar. Another kick. Something, presumably a person, hits said bar. Five rooms and a floor away and the brawl might as well be happening on the flat of his head.

Varric searches the bottom of the mug on the table in front of him. Empty. He throws it on the floor and scoffs. In all honesty, he would rather not be able to practically see the fight downstairs unfold in front of his eyes. “It shouldn’t be this way”, he mutters to himself for the upteenth time this hour, but with no door what else can be expected. Hawke and Rivaini, always at your service. Those two truly cannot be trusted on Wicked Grace night. If ever. The brawl downstairs seems to have no intention to stop, and this addition to his day is not supporting him in dealing with life in the least. Yesterday’s Wicked Grace round truly was a night to remember and should be recorded into the company annals, he will admit that. His head surely will not let him forget it any time soon, not with that skull-splitting pain that even the hair of the dog cannot defeat.

Ridiculous.

Even the empty page in front of him seems to laugh at his expenses. _A dwarf who cannot hold his drinks. What a joke._ Regardless, he feels a duty to keep staring back at it. His editor has been very pleased with his sales lately, which only means he needs to produce more. Easier said than done, all inspiration around him seems to have dried up. Sword and Shields is waiting for the next move from the beloved captain, _could Red please get a move?_ He doesn’t want to step into Hard in Hightown, he’s not ready for another chapter. The series is too successful for him to truly care about and he was not put on this world to spend his life pleasing perfumed Orlesians ladies. He’s all caught up with recording the groups’ shenanigans. It’s not like that work is going to be ready for publishing anytime soon anyway; Andraste only knows what else they will get up to next and he can’t miss what might be the best part of the story yet. Last, but oh Maker not least, his own family situation somehow haunts him and taunts him. It would make for some truly dark reading material many in the damned city would enjoy, but some demons are better as nightmares than paper and ink.

“Idiot, don’t go and make yourself sad now.”

The room does not reply to the breathy remark. It does, however, seem colder all of a sudden. Glancing towards the fireplace, he notices that the flames have turned into embers. Bad thoughts, no fire or beer to fend them off and the damned sixth Blight still happening downstairs. His patience has thinned enough. He decides to drag himself out of the chair to search for something to help with the situation. Fireplace first, beer later.

While he tends to the fire, his thoughts don’t seem content enough to stop spinning around the topic of family. Is it just his, or are all families as fucked up and filled with secrets and backstabbing? Considering how she’s turned out, Rivaini’s probably was. Broody hasn’t had the luxury of having a family, and he can almost hear the elf remind him of that with heavy judgement laced into that velvety voice of his. If questioned on the matter, Blondie would just preach about being taken from his because he’s a mage. Fair point, but already old in his book. He doesn’t know much about Red, Daisy has left hers and probably has her reasons...The only hint of hope he can see comes from Hawke. Sure, their story is nothing short of a tragedy, not with all the death and separation they have endured. Also, that Gamlen guy is as shady as they come. Still, he can see the genuine love between Hawke and her mother, and the shadow of happier times in their eyes whenever they speak of their life in Ferelden with the still complete family. Yes, there is hope indeed.

The spark from his slightly faulty flint finally takes and, as the flames flare up in front of him, a metaphorical counterpart ignites in his head. How can he have been so stupid! He slaps himself on the forehead, letting his arm rest there, almost recreating the pose of many a  concerned looking statues around Kirkwall. To think he was even involved with the whole will recovery adventure! He has always so strongly considered Hawke in all her Hawkiness as just Hawke, Carver as Hawke Junior and Leandra as lady Hawke, that he has missed an immensely important fact. The whole clan -shady character included- is what remains of the once illustrious Amell family. And for anyone in Kirkwall old enough to remember the first decades of the Dragon Age, that is the family that embodies all the characteristics needed to be the centre of a good novel. He recalls being a young dwarf and wondering, how was it possible that the Amell name was not to be spoken, and yet it could be found on everyone’s lips. Yes. This is good. His fingers are tingling, on the way to get overwhelmed with the urge to grab a quill and start writing.

Perhaps, he has found a way to get back at the laughing blank page. He is unsure how much Hawke truly knows, never having met that side of the family, shady character excluded. Luckily though, her mother is one of the main contributors to the scandalous past of the family, and most likely will have an inkling about the rest of them. It might be a good idea to pay her a visit. And have a chat. Even if only to escape his room in its current unfortunate state. He can’t say he is too excited at the prospect of dragging his body all the way to Hightown, especially with that half healed leg from the most recent adventure with Hawke. _Where is Blondie when you need him?_ _Probably off doing some mage protection dangerous business._ And he might get a slap for his total lack of manner. However, let it never be said that anything stopped Varric Tethras from pursuing a good story. It’s time to change into his best coat, take his charm and go for a hike.

                                                                  

***********

As expected, by the time he finally reaches the Hawke mansion his leg is hurting something fierce. _I should have downed another mug of beer._ Well, no use in complaining now. The estate is looking well. If buildings were able express emotions, it could almost be said that this one is happy to be inhabited by the right people. Or maybe he is just getting bloody sentimental. The chain, perched next to the freshly painted door and connected to some bell inside, is there to be pulled. He does so and waits.

In no time, he hears a rustle and the heavy door is opened with difficulty by that slip of an elven girl Hawke has rescued from the Tevinter slavers. She recognises him promptly and does not bother to ask him anything, treating him as an appreciated guest. Retreating to let him enter, she welcomes him with a polite: “Good day serah, please welcome to the estate of the most illustrious and most beloved mistress Hawke”.

He chuckles. It is a running joke with Hawke, to see what new form of instructions she can give her servants to annoy anyone coming to her door with a reminder of how a nothing like her has made it into Hightown. Or more correctly, made it back. Most illustrious indeed. The bell must evidently not be connected only to the servants quarters, for he notices another female figure elegantly walking down the stairs into the hall.

“How do you do, Lady Hawke?”

Despite the heat and the unannounced visit, Leandra Amell Hawke looks ever the lady. Not even a grey hair ruining the simple braid, no spot on the well tailored blue dress. She signals Orana to make way for her, as fit to her station.

“Lately my daughter has laid claim to that title.” He can almost make out a hint of a sardonic smile on her face.  “Just Leandra will do, serah. Are you looking for her? I believe she is out to visit Merrill, but she should be back anytime soon. You are welcome to wait here. Could I interest you in some tea while you wait?”

By the time her welcoming speech is done, she has reached the lower level of the antechamber and comes to stand in front of him. She is still smiling, ladies always smile. He can see in her blue eyes, so similar to Hawke’s, that she is questioning why he’s here.

“I appreciate your hospitality, but there is no need to be so hasty, my lady. In an uncharacteristic turn of events, I would actually like to request a meeting with you.  If you could be so kind to forget my lack of manners in coming unannounced and with no previously scheduled arrangement”.

Her surprise is evident, but she quickly recovers. She signals something to Orana the elf understands with no need for clarification, as she scurries back to the servants’ quarters. He is expecting some tea to appear soon.

“Certainly, serah Tethras. I do not find myself taken by so many engagements that I would not be able to entertain an esteemed guest such as you. Let us go somewhere more comfortable.”

Esteemed guest, ha. A guest who left for an expedition with her two surviving children and came back with only one. But also a guest who was instrumental in getting her ancestral home back. It is unclear how he should interpret her reply, her tone slightly more piercing than her words.

They move to a drawing room. He absentmindedly observes the new luxuries afforded to the house: the white curtains, the rich fabric of the armchairs, the exotic wood of the many tables. This is what a descent into the Deep Roads can pay for. The money behind all this is Hawke’s, but the taste is too refined for her. The variety of blues in all shades and tones points at Leandra. His suspicions are confirmed when the older woman sits down gracefully on a blue armchair trimmed with gold. Surrounded by harmonising colours, and with the added touch of a vase of white lilies on the table next to her, she resembles an Orlesian painting.

“I do not wish to seem impatient, but I am quite intrigued with your desire to speak to me, Mr.Tethras. What brings you here?”

Straight to business it is. He expected some more polite talk. He should not forget this woman has braved many years in rural Ferelden, and that experience must change a person. He shifts on his chair, collecting his thoughts for a second.

“Varric will do, if you please. I see you have no desire for idle chit chat, Leandra, so I will try to get straight to the point. Even if I must admit, that... that is not something I am usually known for. You have probably heard about my good looks and talent with a crossbow, but those are not the only graces the Maker has granted me. In fact, I fancy myself quite the storyteller.  I have recently realised that you have a story worth telling and might be interested in telling. I would certainly like to know more about it, if you don’t mind my brazenness”.

He watches as the lines of her face become harder. Whether in pain or outrage, he cannot discern. Most likely a mix of both. But it lasts for just for a second. She quickly recovers her composure and it is Lady Leandra Amell, in all her glory, glaring back at him.

“I shall not say this request comes as a surprise. I expected at some point someone would come knocking, demanding to revisit those years. In fact...the surprise should be that no one has done it so far. You are as good as anyone else.”

Not knowing how to interpret her bearings, for once Varric remains quiet. He is saved by  Orana, who comes in carrying a tray with steaming tea and some Orlesian looking pastries. The elf effortlessly serves both of them a mug, leaves the sweets in front of them, and departs quietly after being thanked by Leandra. The porcelain cup becomes his only defence.  Taking longer than needed to sip the drink, he observes the woman through the vapours emanating from the hot liquid. She is no longer considering him, gazing towards an indefinite point on the wall. The question asked was not an easy one. It must have created ripples in the calmness Leandra has just recently found, finally settled into the mansion and having accepted the departure of her younger child. There is a feeling too similar to guilt permeating his conscience, so he speaks softly:

“I truly must apologise for my audaciousness. It was perhaps ill advised of me, but I do truly believe your story is worth telling. In those days, I was only a child, but many events your family was involved with are still clear to me to this day. For better or worse, these are pages of Kirkwall’s history...and looking at what is happening, I am not of the opinion they should be forgotten.  Perhaps they should be written down and not left to malign hearsay.”

Maybe he’s making a point. She is perfectly still, holding her cup with both hands on her lap and waiting for his next argument.

“Still, I do apologise. I am sure my impudence has brought up many memories, and not all are good ones.”

“They are not all bad, either.” Leandra’s face softens, her eyes twinkling and absent, lost in remembrance. She takes a deep breath.

“As you are known to, you spin your words well, Master Tethras. As I said, it is no surprise that someone would eventually ask. Many still speak in hushed tones about my scandal, or at least the silence at my front door would suggest so. It might be an interesting thought to entertain, to just confess it all to a familiar stranger. Maker knows, I’ve had my years of reconsiderations in this city and this is the perfect location to open that vase. But, I suppose you won’t be content with just my story?”

He sighs.

“In all honesty, my lady, perhaps not. I must confess, your cousin Revka did hold my fascination as a young dwarf...”

“And she too makes for a perfect heroine, doesn’t she? Very well, I might regret it, but I will treat you to this story. You must understand, even I don’t know everything. More than a few of those years are shrouded in mystery for me too. Difficult for me to know what was happening, all the way from Ferelden. However... He has refused to share with me, but if you are willing to invest some gold... who knows? Perhaps my brother will be able to report what I cannot.”

He maintains as neutral a face as he can, but inside he is beaming. He did not expect it to be so easy. Although Hawke wears her heart on her sleeve so openly, he imagined her mother to have more reservations. His damned good looks and charm, so dependable.

Leandra pours herself more tea.

“ I guess you will want to write a book about it, am I right?”

Yes, or a few. And she knows that too.

“Eventually. If the conditions were to be agreeable for all parties.” he concedes. She is not satisfied yet.

“Can I trust you will do us justice? Will you leave out any fabrications? There have been too many over the years.”

He smiles widely. In fact, he is grinning, or perhaps smirking. He can’t see himself, but he knows every damn muscle in his face is involved, and he can barely control them. After taking the last sip of tea, he carefully places the cup on the nearby table. Leandra’s gaze is somewhat heavy, but she makes no noise. She can’t help but laugh when he replies to her:  

“ _Why_ , Lady Hawke, I never tell anything but **the truth** ”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all! 
> 
> First of all, thanks for reading! 
> 
> Just a few notes. 
> 
> This project is going to be LONG. It's my return to fanfiction after many years of hiatus and the first in English, so it holds a special place in my heart. It came to me as an idea in the middle of the night and it just won't leave. I have a bit more written and most of it is planned out, so I am trying to get to a pace of updating at least every two weeks. But the plot bunnies are breeding like crazy and all the characters demand attention, so who knows! (which is also the reason why it's part of a series, because I am sure there will be side stories that look more into some of the characters cause I am already writing one). 
> 
> I would just like to thank three special people who have been giving me support in getting this thing started. Timeforelfnonsense (Tumblr) for her alpha reading and kind words, hellenys (Tumblr) for literally everything and obviously my beta reader Anya.


	2. Notes from the Author

No soul, alive nor dead, who has ever laid eyes on the stone hell that is Kirkwall can ever say it is a boring place. From its inception as Emerius until the current events - might I add I foresee that “current events” applies to any time this book will be read, until the sea will eat the last rock- from the highest spire of the Viscounts’ palace to the lowest pit of Darktown, there is a plenitude of murders, plots, starstruck lovers, rebellions and invasions to keep even the most disillusioned Game player entertained.

Nevertheless, as in any story, not all characters are equal. Some appear for a spectacular yet brief role, some plot in the background without ever being revealed to the spectator, and others just claim the part of the protagonist for themselves. This truth applies itself like a second skin to the subjects of this book.

I will clarify myself. It might be news to all the newcomers to this glorious city, but it is undeniable to anyone who was born and raised here that the Amell family represented a pillar of the history of Kirkwall. Their active participation in the war of separation from Orlais in the early Blessed Age, the control they exercised over a large majority of the economic forces of the city since the Fourth Blight, not to forget their political involvement in the events at the beginning of this age... all excellent examples to show why the Amells have been considered one of the most prominent noble scions this community has been able to offer.

And it is their story I will tell. All of it, no stone left unturned. If you did not know them before, this is your chance to get a lesson in this city’s history. If, like me, you were here and had their stories fascinate you, or perhaps you were behind those stories circulating, this is your chance to learn how you got it wrong.

But, I beg you my dear readers, never forget that, no matter the subject of any story that might ever be explored between the cliffs of Kirkwall, She will find a way to steal the thunder of the protagonist. Or become the antagonist. Kirkwall is never a mere background. We could even understand it so: the challenge for you dear readers is to prevail against the smokescreens and observe to what extent our characters are players or played by the merciless black souled stone giant. Enjoy playing the dare of the ages between the lines of these humble memoirs.

To conclude this endless stream of unrequested author warnings, I want to reassure you all that the following volumes have been created thanks to thorough research.  All these pages are based on events’ rendition I personally heard from the people who were there. The re-instated Hawke-Amell estate has not wished to appoint an official biographer. Yet. But if they did, I guess it would be me. Nevertheless, I am a writer and not an historian, so I shall admit some liberty might have been taken in the description of the events, for your interest and enjoyment. Regardless, on my honour as a writer, there is nothing in this story  **but the truth** .

Yours Truly,

 

Varric Tethras.


	3. Mirage I.I

**ACT I -MIRAGE**

## mirage

_noun_

  1. An optical phenomenon that creates the illusion of water, often with inverted reflections of distant objects, and results from distortion of light by alternate layers of hot and cool air. Also called _fata morgana_ .
  2. Something illusory or insubstantial.



 

**Chapter One**

 

As it is to be expected in Kirkwall, on its last day the month of Haring* was kissing the city goodbye with an unrelenting wind, intent on pouring the entirety of the Waking Sea onto Hightown. Though doing a spectacular job with the rain, the thick walls of the Amell estate were doing a poor one at blocking the cold outside. It could be felt even more strongly in the servants’ quarters, where the fires were always lit more sparingly than in the main house. Perhaps trying to warm herself through exertion, a young elven woman barged into the servants hall, letting the door slam in her haste, her pale braid almost captured against the jamb.

“I need the fresh flowers from Antiva for the little ladies! Has anyone seen them? I need them now.”

Five bonnet covered heads turned abruptly to face the loud voice, wondering about the unexpected intrusion. Behind them, Alessa Reid, the housekeeper, glared at her with her thin lips pursed in a flat line. Oh, she must have interrupted the briefing to the temporary staff hired for the party. Fallon was about to apologise, when her mother called her from the corner of the room, letting her know she had the flowers.

“Adahlena, please take her and go. The little ladies need to be ready as soon as possible. Lady Amell wants to see they are presentable before the guests arrive.”

The order from the housekeeper had sounded firm enough for both elven women. Adahlena got her cue. Holding a basket filled with freshly cut white flowers under one arm, she took her daughter under the other and swiftly walked to the corridor. Once the two were far enough from the hall, the older woman slowed her pace and signaled her daughter to follow her example.

“Fallon, da’lan, you should pay more attention to your surroundings. You know how worried Alessa gets when Lord Amell invites important guests. And tonight we have all of the important guests in Hightown.”

Fallon expected her to continue her tirade, but Maysie, the young elven scullery maid, interrupted their conversation running past them, unbraided black hair flowing all over her face and apron in her hands. Adalhena sighed. Fallon understood her concern, Maysie was most likely about to get told off by Ol’Hartling, the  curmudgeon who reigned over the Amell estate’s kitchen. Her mother was right worrying about her too. Mistress Reid had given many reprimands about her behaviour in the house, half directly to her and half calmly whispered to her mother when they were both knitting in front of the fireplace in the dead of night. There was just so much the strict woman could take before she would go complaining to her husband, who thanks to Fallon’s luck happened to be the steward of the mansion. And Maker forbids any complaints should be heard by that bat that served Lady Amell or by the lady herself.

“I know Ma. I will behave better with the important guests.” The eye-rolling undermined her promise. “I just wish we didn’t have to host this party at the estate. I wish we could celebrate First Day* in the square like last year, when the lords and lady went to the Harriman party.”

That had been a great celebration. For once, Kirkwall had been blessed by a starry cloudless night. Everyone in the household who was not bound by social convention to perfume themselves to perform an act fit for their station had been able to bundle themselves in cloaks and blankets and sneak off to the main square. There they had sang, drank and danced with the other lucky servants with no masters to serve for a few hours, many guards whose role was supposedly to guard the event and a few courageous lowtowners who had wanted to experience the glamour of Hightown, if only for a night. She had got tipsy on the spiced wine and even found a hall boy from another estate to bless the beginning of the new year with the customary good luck kiss. But alas, this year the great show had moved on to the next act, and it was the Amells' turn to play host.

“We will do that again next year, da’lan. For now, it is important that the little ladies are prepared for the night. Tomorrow is another day, another year, and we shall rest.”

A woman of no more words than necessary, her mother had made herself clear, and Fallon saw no point in continuing the discussion. Content with each others’ presence, they climbed the stairs to the main house in silence, turning right to the children wing. Once they reached their destination, the older woman handed her the basket and planted a soft kiss on her forehead, needing to step on her toes to reach. A final meaningful look reminded Fallon of the significance of that night and the duty she had.

She observed Adahlena go towards the little lords’ room. She had probably been given the task to entertain them for the night, when they were going to be relegated to their room while everyone else was in the ballroom celebrating. Oh poor Gamlen and Damion, not close enough to their majority to be admitted to society. She was not usually in the business to pity anyone who had as much as the young lordlings. Fallon understood them, though. It’s never fun to be excluded. As the governess’ daughter, she had been granted the privilege of growing up with them little lords and ladies. However, while the little lordlings were still playing games and receiving lessons, she had been required to enter service pretty early for her own food and keep. Still, she could find no complaints with her post. Being a few years older than them, she had been assigned to be Leandra and Revka’s ladies maid, and they were still able to enjoy each other’s company. On that particular night though, she wasn’t sure how much she would enjoy being with those two. An incessant chatter could be heard through the door. Knowing the girls well, she had been able to read the signs of a disagreement coming soon before she had left them in there alone to search for the missing flowers. She rolled her eyes once more and braved her entrance.

“Yes, Rev, I am sure Guillaume will be in attendance. Even though I do not understand why he is back from Orlais so soon, I thought he was going to be away for much longer.”

Leandra was standing in front of the mirror, appraising her own figure while giving broad strokes to her dark hair. Fallon could only see her face in the reflection of the mirror, and even so she felt a knot in her stomach at the resolute yet resigned expression the young girl wore.

“That is wonderful. You will get a chance to speak to him again! Who knows what he’s done in Orlais! How much he must have learned. Maybe he’s got some chevalier training. Or maybe he’s a bard! Wouldn’t it be great to have a husband that can sing you serenades. In Orlesian of all languages. And how much he must have changed. He cannot still be the thin child we met when we were twelve! We too have changed in the last five years. Oh Leandra, you must not be so disappointed to see him, you might have a positive surprise.”

Revka was still lying on her bed, with her face half buried in the pillow she was hugging. And only wearing her undergarments! Sure, her red hair covered her back like a blanket, but it was no substitute for real clothes. It was no wonder her naked skin was fully covered in goosebumps, which the young girl did not seem to be bothered by.

“It is very rich coming from you! Uncle Fausten still hasn’t made up his mind about your betrothal offers, so you might even get a chance to give your opinion on your own engagement! I am not so naive to think it will be love at second sight, so stop being so chipper about it!”

Leandra had turned, brandishing her brush like a weapon to underline her point to her cousin. Revka had propped herself on her arms, her eyes wide and looking about to launch herself in one of her usual long winded speeches to apologise. Fallon decided to step in and play the unlikely role of the mediator. The things she had to do for these two.

“Ladies, ladies. Should I remind you we have two hours before Lady Amell wants to see you. And neither of you is dressed yet. And Revka, taming that mane of yours is going to take time. I have managed to chase the flowers from Antiva, so we can and should get started!”

Fallon placed the flower basket on the enormous vanity table Lord Fausten had made build for the girls, making sure to place it between the two mirrors so she could more easily reach it while working. Leandra looked at her with her brows raised high. That lady was not above remarking on her intervention, she had begun imitating her mother and putting servants back in their places. However, the other one anticipated her, coming to give a brief hug to Fallon, not letting her go before planting a quick kiss on her cheek.

“Thank you Fa. We don’t want to get auntie Beth angry tonight. I guess it’s time for me to get dressed!”

Her musical laughter sounded sincere, if not a little misplaced. Revka often found reason to laugh when no one else did. Her being undressed, with every minute taking them closer to the dreaded presentation, there was no reason to giggle. At least, she reached for her wardrobe independently, clearly searching for something that was not the red and black dress Fallon had laid out for the night. Leandra questioningly followed her cousin’s actions, already wearing a black shift she was ready to cover with the dress her mother expected her to wear, in the colours of her heraldry.  

“Look what Papa has had done for me! He said I could choose whatever I wanted for tonight, so I told the seamstress I wanted this! Isn’t it wonderful?”

Fallon really doubted it had happened that way. It seemed more likely to her that Lord Fausten had just dropped his daughter in one shop with his valet as a chaperon, while he went off to one of his lordly meetings. Left to her own devices with a deep purse, she must have given into her passion for unusual fashion and made some shopkeeper very happy with her fee. What the girl was holding in her hands could in no way be considered appropriate for Kirkwall high society. To begin with, both the petticoat and the kirtle were pure white. It had no apparent structure for the skirt, with too many thin layers and not enough support. The kirtle had gold linings and its cut seemed appropriate. But again, she wondered whether there was a decent fitted bodice to throw on top of it, as there seemed to be no proper surcoat. The sleeves were quite tight, but that could be accepted. Oh Lady Amell would throw a fit. She could not wait to see it.

“Are you trying to dress like Andraste?”

Fallon found her own question quite apt. Regardless of her sympathy for Revka’s naive move, she could not refrain from a joke. Which Revka must have appreciated, as she started giggling immediately. Unlike Leandra, who was still dazed by her cousin’s bold choice. Fallon decided to not even bother trying to convince Revka to change her mind. There was a possibility she might get in trouble later, but she was dead sure getting in trouble if the girls were not ready to go soon. If she had to lose no matter what, she would at least to do so in the way she could derive some enjoyment from. The two of them started working on putting on the first layer of clothing, when they heard a sharp comment.

“You can’t do this.”

Ah, the Lady had found her voice again.

“Mama will not be happy. It is the first night we get to be hostesses in our own house, we should be dressed appropriately. And this is not appropriate.”

Appropriate, appropriate, appropriate. She could hear her mother’s voice through the girl. However, an unfazed Revka simply replied that her father had given her permission to dress as she pleased and she saw no reason why this dress that he had bought her was inappropriate. The sweet soul most likely was really unaware. But then again, she was the girl that had been found hidden behind a statue in the Chantry with that Carver boy marking her neck. On the Summerday to celebrate her coming of age, of all days. Her judgement was known not to be the soundest.

Leandra stopped with the brush still in her hands. She was motionless for a long moment, while Fallon helped Revka get into her dress. The elf kept glancing at the girl, wondering what storm was happening behind those furrowed brows. When finally they completed tying all the strings (bless the Maker, there was a red fitted bodice to go with that expanse of white and gold laces and silks), they sat at the table, ready to tame the red lion mane of curls Revka was given to by the Maker. She pulled the strands from the front on the back and clasped them into a braid and got to the tedious work of weaving the white flowers into the hairdo.

The black haired girl returned into her field of vision abruptly, letting the stool scratch the floor as she sat next to them. Observing her, Fallon wanted to laugh at the top of her lungs. But she only allowed herself a knowing smirk. So, the little Lady had decided to show some fire and had made her countermove. Gone was the black shift, in favour of a white one. She had wiggled herself into a deep blue kirtle and sat there, with her hair needing another round of brushing. Her favourite black surcoat, the one with the biggest amount of jewels Fallon had ever seen, the one that was commissioned for the Viscount Satinalia feast to be attended with her betrothed that never happened, the one that was waiting for the next official engagement of the pair… that one was waiting on the bed behind her.   

“If you shall insist on going to this ball to be the most discussed item in Hightown for the next weeks, I shall not let myself be overshadowed so.”

 

* * *

 

Going into her mother’s room was always an unpredictable experience. Usually Leandra was not the member of the quartet to be scolded. Yet, most times even her words of encouragement could make you bleed. In this instance, she could hardly wait to have the scrutiny be over, especially knowing she would be found in the wrong. Maybe she had acted rashly, which was not in her character, but  tonight was an uncommon night.

Fallon knocked. Not usually one for much apprehension, she was now being betrayed by the red tip of her pointy ears. Serah Casimira Werner came to open. Through her thick black lashes, she gave a disapproving appraisal to the three young women in front of her.

“Casimira, is it the girls? Let them in and leave us. Please go make sure that Alessa has everything under control, I trust your judgement better.”

The Nevarran woman nodded silently, allowed the girl to pass and left with Fallon. Her black skirt was much larger than what anyone else would willingly wear. Black eyes, black hair, black clothes. Leandra understood why Fallon uncouthly called her Lady Bat, even though she had stopped partaking in the name calling since she had become a woman. She glanced at Revka, standing next to her. Perhaps she had gained a shred of judgement, as the nails of her right hand were being ungraciously attacked by her mouth. Leandra slapped her hand away, begrudgingly committing a final act of camaraderie before being thrown to the lion.

Bethann Amell was facing her vanity table, giving the last unneeded touches to her blush. Her dark hair was arranged so that the white strands that were beginning to appear near her temples looked like they belonged in the composition rather than as if they were being hidden. _It is a sin to change what the maker gives us and respectful to him to accept his gifts._ That was the belief she lived by. Content with the distribution of the powder on her cheeks, she got up and shifted to face them. Immediately, her lineaments contorted in anger,  the effect only made more striking by how the cosmetics highlighted her angular features. Slow but inexorable like the first frost of winter, she approached Revka. Bethann raised the white skirt of the girl’s dress and observed unimpressed how it fell to the floor, fabric pooling around her feet.

“I should Mistress Reid know the decorations are wrong after all and we shall be expected to celebrate a wedding tonight?”

Revka was taken aback by the icy tone. She looked almost innocent, with her big blue eyes as wide as a saucepan and her lips pursed in a small circle of surprise. The fool, she was still not used to it even after growing up with her aunt.  Yet, who was she to judge? Leandra had chills going down her spine too, mostly in anticipation of the remark her mother was concocting for her. Her cousin made an attempt to defend herself, but her mother anticipated the girl's move, continuing with her voice of steel:

“What would my poor sister say if she could see you now? Lenore would have never allowed you to act this way, to be so careless, to ignore your position. Your father permits too much.” Exasperated, she leaned on the edge of her bed using her arms to find balance, like a swordsman finding their footing before their next attack. “You are not my child and practically of age, so I shall only recommend you to reconsider your silly choice. I warmly advise to go back to your room and wear what you were told to. And don’t be late, you don’t want to give anything else to discuss to the guest, do you?”

Revka still clinged to her reasoning, squeezing her fists like a child.   

“Papa said I could wear anything I wanted! And I don’t see anything inappropriate! I had it made by Serah Malkin, like any of your dresses! I specified it was for a First Day ball.”

“Serah Malkin would sell you a sack and pass it as Antivan formal wear, if she got the inkling she could get away with it and still get paid. It’s good you have that pretty face, otherwise there would not be much hope for you.”

Normally, Leandra would have attempted to defend her cousin. Tonight she did not feel so inclined. Rationally, she knew she had no reason to be angry at her cousin for trying  to be supportive. But she was the easiest and closest target for the mixture of feelings that had made themselves comfortable in her stomach. She did feel a tiny spark of pity when the girl, tears in her eyes, walked out of the room with no further word. It transformed into panic with the sound of her mother taking a long sigh and moving to a properly sitting position. Bethann patted the bed next to her, in a gesture for her daughter to join.

Leandra hesitated for a second, but finally made her move. Her mother observed her hairdo, lightly tracing with her finger the flower in her braid, the detail of her necklace and gently moving a rebel strand behind her ear. Her eyes were a calmer sea and when finally she spoke, her tone was much gentler.

“Go get yourself changed too, child. You don’t need to wear a bizarre dress to be noticed. Your manners, speech and composure speak for themselves. You are the daughter of the Head of this family. And my joy and pride. The de Launcet boy will appreciate you regardless of your colour, but you should remind everyone that for the moment, you are still an Amell.”

Leandra nodded and, grateful for the mercy, left to comply with her duty.

 

* * *

  
“That is wonderful!”

Revka’s comment was given full-heartedly, even though no one responsible for the spectacle in front of her was there to hear it. The ballroom looked simply wonderful. It was filled with candles and braziers and the decor, usually heavy with red and black, had been swapped with white curtains, tablecloths and decorations. This night had been on her mind for a while, and for the moment it was already living up to all of her expectations.  

Uncle Aristide and Papa were standing next to each other, looking like a coin with two identical sides. Even the white patches in their otherwise red hair looked similar. Sure, her papa was leaner while uncle Aristide really loved his jellied Pigs’ feet. And her papa preferred his beard full while uncle Aristide spent hours on grooming his to achieve the perfect pointy moustaches. But otherwise, two peas in a pod. Leandra and Aunt Beth were standing next to them, almost managing to recreate the same picture, with their matching colours and features. Leandra really did resemble her mother and sometimes Revka wondered why she didn’t; Bethann was her mother’s twin after all.

“So you finally have accepted to do something you are required to for once”.

She had thought herself quite rude escaping Auntie’s room so hastily, but the older woman really did try her best to give her reason to. Revka did not want to engage in any retaliation, so she just stared at the hem of her skirt. Before any other unkind word could be uttered, her father gently raised her chin to have her face him. His eyes were bright with affection; for a moment she felt as if she was the only person in that room while he complimented her. After he drew her to his side with a light touch, they were all, at last, in formation, like soldiers taking their position seconds before a battle. She took a final breath and the door opened, letting the enemies in.

And there were many. Viscount Barrét was among the first ones to arrive, relying heavily on his cane. His eyes were fast though, running from one cousin to the other. He received the deepest curtsy from Bethann, and the girls obliged to copy. The Harrimans were next and both clans spent some time reminiscing about the previous year’s feast and wishing that the present one could bring as much joy. The Reinhardt came afterwards, proud and willing to show Kirkwall the young Orlesian comtesse who had just married the widowed head of the family. Arthur winked at her, while Phyllis could not stop herself from hugging Leandra, happy to share this night with her dear friend.

After the Carvers, whom she could not look in the eyes, she lost count of how many greetings she bestowed, until everyone of importance had arrived and the door was once again closed. Uncle Aristide was then quick to move to the centre of the room, making sure that all the lights hit him in the right way to make his bright smile shine as much as the rich jewellery he was wearing. His valet brought him a glass of what she assumed was some of the delicious mulled wine prepared in the kitchen during the afternoon.

“My dear friends, the Amell family is delighted to welcome you to our humble house. Another year has passed and brought fruits in Kirkwall, under the wise guidance of our Viscount.” He took a second to raise the glass towards the Viscounts, who received a hearty applause. “And yet, like the beast whose name it bears, this age is hungry for another year. And in Kirkwall, we are no chevaliers, to dare fighting against the beast! So we shall concede to its desires and welcome its fifth year with the merriest of celebrations. As your host, I ask you only one thing, enjoy!”

This second time the applause was thunderous. Like a well oiled mechanism, all the servants swept into the room carrying trays filled with delicacies and mulled wine. Revka seized one before any member of her family could notice. She had learned the previous year that, with her petite frame, a few drops could be enough to make her feel dizzy. But the orchestra Uncle Ari had hired was playing too divinely and she did not want to deprive herself of the pleasure to dance while seeing the world in a slightly softer light.  And dance she would, she had no doubt. In the time her lips needed to touch the glass, Arthur Reinhardt was in front of her, his smile confident and his eyes mischievous.

“May I ask the pleasure of having your first dance, lady Amell?”

“What would I gain from choosing you as my first partner, Serah Reinhardt?”

She had known of him for years, and they had met at the Chantry a few times, so she did not feel embarrassed giving him a bit of a tongue in cheek reply. He took her innocuous provocation well; he nonchalantly moved a strand of wild black hair from his eyes as he replied with conviction:

“No doubt the pleasure to dance with the best dancer tonight”.

And he wasn’t wrong, Revka considered as they waltzed elegantly through the room. Oh how she enjoyed twirling around. She did not always mind the rigorous respect of the rythm her instructor always preached, but she could see the perks of an able dancing leader. Her feet followed his arms’ instructions with no effort, while her mind was free to roam, imagining that the light of the candles came instead from hundreds of small stars and that the ceiling of the room opened to a clean sky. He was telling her about his recent hunting trip, that much she gathered. Had anyone asked her how many deers he had caught, she would not have been able to answer. Was it even deers they were discussing?

When the music was over, she thanked him but excused herself promptly. A quick glance around the room confirmed her suspicions. Guillame du Launcet had arrived late. It bore him no good will with his prospective mother-in-law, who was greeting him with Leandra in tow. However, while Revka was trying to follow the scene, a shadow came to cover it. She tried standing on the tip of her toes, but that only brought her closer to the handsome face of the man towering in front of her. Oh, he must have wanted to talk to her. She almost lost her balance when his two strong hands saved her.

“Good evening lady Amell. Might I presume to ask you to accompany me for the next dance?”

Once again stable on the ground, she observed him. His black attire was well cut, yet it bore no colours nor crest she recognised.

“I do not believe we have met yet, serah. It would be a pleasure to share this dance nonetheless.”

With his deep unfamiliar voice, he introduced himself.

“My name is Perrin, m’lady. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Having received his name, she thought no more of it and reciprocated the pleasantry. The next song was too fast for them to continue with any conversation. His arms easily threw her around following the spirited tempo. His technique was not as polished as Arthur’s, but she enjoyed the intensity of their dance. When they were done she was breathless and her cheeks felt like braziers. Her laugh must have entertained him, for he walked away smiling after thanking her.

She had no time to look for Leandra and Guillaume, all her attention was stolen by Jeremy Carver approaching her. The fire from her cheeks engulfed her whole face and her stomach was suddenly filled with butterflies. He must have been feeling the same, because he looked as red as she felt. Nevertheless, he found the strength to approach her and open his arms to indicate his desire to dance. She followed promptly.

“You look beautiful tonight.”

He had told her that in the shadows of the cool chantry too, while they were hiding from the sun and the unwanted attention of the crowd. His face was plain like everyone else’s in his family, but his eyes were kind and the way he looked at her made her feel _adored._ They had kissed, and she could still feel his lips on that spot of her neck they visited before the Mother had found them. She had screeched and shouted at them about propriety in the house of the Maker, where they were admitting sin on the day they were supposed to show the world they were adults. Still, they were allowed to the procession. Afterwards, their parents had not permitted them to even go so far as to exchange a glance in the following months.

She had thought of him often, but perhaps not as often as he of her. They were dancing and she could see the memory of her touches on his skin as stubborn gooseflesh that could not be blamed on the cold. Still, he barely looked at her, making sure his feet hit hers as little as he could manage. The rhythm of the song was too slow to distract her, so her eyes wandered around his face, his brown hair and his broad shoulders. He still looked the same. She wondered if she had changed.

“Thank you.”

She grabbed his hand before he could give way to the next suitor. She was inclined to grant him another dance, if only to have him say a word! Or she to him. She was not sure. She just wished they could say something. Or just dance and say nothing.

But Phyllis Reinhardt was of another mind. With wide eyes she forcefully latched on her arm and dragged her away.

“Leandra needs you. Please go and talk to her. She is in the corner with Guillaume.”

And so she did. She walked as fast as was acceptable to said corner, where indeed Leandra was sitting with the lanky Orlesian standing awkwardly next to her. He was looking in all directions other than at his fiancée, as if he was hoping for someone to save him. When he noticed her approaching, his expression relaxed and he hurriedly explained the situation.

“We were dancìng you see, but Leandrà is not feeling well. I am afraid she has had a bit too much wine. Would you be so kind as to take her to get some air fresh? I do not know the house and would not like to go somewhere I am not allowed.”

Paying little more attention to the boy, she offered her arm to Leandra and quickly escorted her out. No parent noticed them, so they were able to navigate the corridors in peace, until they reached the safety of the dimly lit part of the house. They stopped in front of a balcony, hoping that fresh air could indeed help Leandra.

“I could not stand his chatter anymore. We found nothing of interest to say and he was filling the silence with inane chatter. Oh Revka, thank you.”

Revka said nothing, and just hugged her cousin tightly. The quiet only lasted for one second, as they saw two heads peak in from the balcony. Their little brothers! The two lucky rascals looked like they were covered in all the heavy clothes they had been able to find, resulting in a mismatch of fabrics. Auntie Bethany would have disapproved of them.

“What are you doing here?”

“Leandra what happened?”

“Is the party still on?”

“Aren’t you cold?”

Their sets of questions were enunciated in unison, creating a small cacophony. The two girls looked at their younger siblings, reciprocating the confusion in finding the two boys hidden on a secluded balcony of the estate. Gamlen smiled and dissipated their doubts:

“We are here to look at the fireworks! Fallon is smuggling us a bottle of wine. You can join us if you are done with the party!”

As if to confirm his words, Fallon appeared carrying a basket with wine, glasses and some pastries under one arm and blankets under the other. She raised an eyebrow, but understood that it was not the time nor the place to discuss what had just happened. She handed the blankets to Revka and Leandra and the five youngsters climbed to the secret clearing above the balcony where the boys had set up their camp.

“We should return soon.”

“Oh Leandra, since you are here you can at least make a toast with us.”

Revka approved of her brother’s idea. She took a glass from the basket and burrowed herself further under the blanket, waiting for Fallon to finish pouring wine for everyone and keeping the bottle to share with Leandra. When they all had a drink in their hands, Gamlen stood up, ready to take the leading role, and in a perfect imitation of his father declared:

“To a new year, may it bring us all joy.”

 

* * *

 

 

Fausten entered his bedroom. Finally. Exhausted. The days of his youth were not an ancient memory, but neither were they right behind him. And entertaining guests had always been a strength of his brother. He welcomed the dim light of the hearth after the thousands of candles from the ballroom. He spoke to the quiet and empty room.

“Tonight was a success. Aris thought so, at least. I am inclined to agree.”  

He walked towards the night table, unbuttoning the cuffs of his doublet sleeves and leaving the two silver jewels on the wooden surface. He unlaced his doublet, unceremoniously abandoning it on the bed.

“I do not understand why he worries. Leandra has been betrothed for years now. Sure, it is a significant night, but she was already presented to society last Summerday*. She is not a surprise.”

Unlike his Revka. Oh, she had dazzled many that night. He made no mistake to interpret her choice dress as bold on purpose. She was wild, but never through machination. She just acted as she pleased. He was certainly to blame, but he never had it in his heart to be too strict with either of his children. Perhaps to make up for their lack of a mother. As if to escape that thought, he turned towards the vanity table and began working on the buttons of his shirt. Dunwald, his valet, had left his basin full of tepid water. Lemon scent tonight. Not his favourite, but for the night he could allow the man his fancy. His shirt fell on the floor too. Perhaps a petty punishment, for the servant would be forced to bend to pick it up the following morning.

“If all is as planned, I shall expect to be busy with letters soon.  As much as Revka will be. We will need to be careful. Her marriage can advance the family significantly.”

He splashed his face, took the cloth behind the basin and wiped his torso. He dried himself and passed the comb through his hair a few times. He picked a few leaves of mint from the bowl in front of him and rubbed his teeth with it. His movements and the crackling of the fire were the only source of noise in the room. Done with his ablution, in a few steps he reached the further corner of the room.

“Old Viscount Barrét is not looking good. He’s as old as my father would be, if not older. Sadly for him, he only has a mage daughter. Hard to become Viscount from the Gallows. We shall see.”

He moved the heavy curtain, which revealed a secret door. As he had known since he had arrived to the room, he found the feminine figure hidden in the narrow secret corridor. He caressed the familiar lineaments, needing no light to find them. As all other pieces of clothing had done that evening, her shift was discarded on the cold floor. Nuzzling her neck, he whispered into her ear:

“Now, let us go to bed.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Haring: 12th month of the Thedosian Calendar  
> First Day: Thedosian New Year's Day  
> Summerday: Thedosian holiday when children coming of age dress in white and march to the Chantry to learn the responsibilities of being adults. I have chosen to interpret it as happening the year when they turn 17-18, similar to the Vallaslin tradition among the Dalish. 
> 
> Read more here: http://blog.bioware.com/2012/12/25/thedosian-holidays/


	4. Mirage I.II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... the posting once a week was a lie. I am as reliable with my internal deadlines as GRRM. In any case, I am not abandoning this story, as I spend most of my free time thinking about it. Thank you for bearing with me in my being late. 
> 
> Last chapter, we left the Amell estate celebrating the arrival of the fifth year of the Dragon age. Aristide talked, Fausten lurked and observed, Revka danced, Fallon and the kids drank wine and Leandra intensely disliked her fiancé.

**9:05**

 

**_Wintermarch_ **

 

The household was to enjoy a quiet day after the great celebrations. The servants had not been excused from fulfilling their roles, but as the nobles rested to recuperate from the fatigue of the party, Alessa had granted all of them the luxury of an extra hour of sleep. With the sun already up, Fallon joined the others in the servants’ hall, hoping that breakfast would help her improve her condition. She should not have shared so much wine with the lordlings; regardless of the small mercy received on that particular day, she could not afford to sleep as long as they surely would.

 The elven girl observed the room while slowly making her way in. The large oak table in the centre of the hall was full. Her mother was in the corner, yet again knitting something with a cup of tea in front of her. Next to her, Lia, the elven maid, was attempting to tame her daughter’s black hair in a braid, before she could get scolded again. Maysie was a delightful child and yet Fallon could not help but wonder how such an attractive lady like Lia had  birthed such a plain daughter. Jevan Reid did not seem to share her opinion; ritual of every meal, the teenage boy was making cow eyes at the elven girl from the opposite side of the table. No surprise there. Fifteen, the whole day locked in a house working, one of two pups in a kennel of old dogs. Maysie had brought with her a flash of the exotic and his odds had been slashed from the moment the second pair of elven mother and daughter had joined the household the previous year. He must be a loyal fellow,  Fallon considered, for the infatuation had lasted long. And to that day dazed by his feelings, he was performing the brave act of not paying attention to his mother, who was lecturing him between one morsel of her breakfast and the other. He was the only person in the house to attempt such a feat with Alessa. His father, joining them from the cellar, noticed it and pinched him in the neck. Fallon did not envy him, son of the steward and the housekeeper.

 Behind them, the Antivan twins were dancing back and forth from the kitchen, carrying plates for everyone. Another set of people whose position Fallon did not envy, locked the whole day in a dark and fiery cave with the ol’Hartling dragon. It must not have been an issue for them, as they never seemed fazed by anyone’s behaviour, always just smiling and winking in unnerving quietness. She suspected that the life they meant to change when they had disembarked from an Antivan galley to seek refuge in Kirkwall was that of a pair of deadly Crows. Then again, she had no proof. They were good kitchen maids with a slight ability to unsettle those around them, nothing more and nothing less.

 Right at the centre of the table, the Bowman clan was sitting, showing four strong backs to her. She could discern them even less than when they were all facing her. Two brothers as valets of the Lords and a son each waiting on the whole noble family, providing any service needed, made for too many similar looking humans in her mind. She had made the round of the whole table. Mara Hartling, the other chamber maid, was nowhere to be seen. Revered Andraste, she realised the bat was missing too! Probably still hanging upside down in her room. Counting her blessings, Fallon sat down next to her mother. She ignored the burning stare coming from Alessa’s side of the table, thinking herself deserving of at least a peaceful breakfast. One of the Antivan Girls, perhaps Dora, dropped a plate full of eggs on the table and winked at her.

 

“You had fun last night.” Adahlena whispered, not raising her eyes from her intricate knitwork.

 “Are you asking or stating? In any case, yes, we had fun. I can’t really believed the Lordlings to _truly_ be so tired they wanted to go to bed so early in the night.”

 The older woman sighed, her hands falling still on her lap: “I suspected they did not want to spend the night with their nanny, but I do not approve of your part in fostering their naughtiness.”  

 “Naughtiness...They aren’t children anymore, Ma. Nobody saw us and you only noticed cause you probably intended to go tuck them in. Besides, it was all a lucky chance. The little ladies could use a break from what I saw.”

 

 Adahlena tensed at the mention of Revka and Leandra. The single raised eyebrow indicated she had not heard yet of the Leandra incident. Probably for the best. The quarter hour she had spent on the balcony with them and the two glasses of wine they had given her must not have prevented Leandra from returning to the party and looking again like her best self for the appraising audience. If they were really lucky, Lady Bethann had not noticed it either.

 “Don’t worry Ma. All is fine. She is just not excited at her great prospect of an Orlesian fiancé. I am sure she will still do her duty like the little lady she is.”

 Adahlena shook her head and returned her attention to her craftwork. Her mother knew her well, this was not the morning to debate with Fallon. Her head felt too soft and too hard at the same time. She barely noticed the mention from one of the Bowman men that the ever growing pile of flowers being delivered was hers to carry to Revka’s room. She tried to take a mouthful of eggs and her stomach protested immediately. The plate was promptly abandoned and she continued looking at the cracks beneath the yellow mush until Elia (or was it Dora) returned it to the kitchen.

 For a while she lost herself in the way the light reflected in her cup of tea, jumping in her seat when the whole table stood up in a rushed uproar of polite salutations. Her confusion cleared when she caught a glimpse of red hair from the kitchen. Fast as a cat, Revka had entered the hall and had made her way to greet the cook. She took her time before appearing from the dark and warm room, chewing a piece of freshly baked bread. All the servants were still standing, looking at each other dazed, unwilling to break propriety allowing themselves to be caught a second time welcoming the Lord’s daughter in their chairs.

 “Good morning everyone! Why are you all standing?” Fallon shot Revka a sarcastic glance; the girl’s mouth formed a small circle and she quickly added: “ Please do not let me interrupt your breakfast!”.

 Unconvinced, most of the house staff sat back down. A few left to begin their daily tasks. Revka took the occasion to grab a chair and drag it next to Fallon’s. Her hair resembled a red foliage bush, with a few white flowers still peeking out from the destroyed hairdo, crumpled and holding onto their stem for dear life. The bare foot sticking out of her tucked legs was black from walking half of the house with no slippers on.

 “What are you doing here?” Fallon asked rolling her eyes.

 The appearance of both the Antivan twins fussing over Revka prevented the noble lady from answering. Once it was settled that yes, she would love some tea and eggs, and no she didn’t need anything fancier thank you, she switched the leg tucked on the chair and launched herself in one of her monologues.

 “I just woke up and couldn’t go back to bed. Too much wine I guess, it makes me sleep fitfully. But I am not that tired! And it just got me thinking! I had a lot of fun last night, but Lea really did not. I want to cheer her up! So I wondered, what if I got her a present? I am not too sure exactly what to get her, but I thought that if we headed out to the market I would certainly find something! She was just so sad! I heard her cry in her sleep, but I know she would never admit it!”

 Fallon sighed. The thought was certainly sweet, and she could even find some real sympathy for Leandra in her unhappy situation. Still, she had no desire to shepard the young reckless noblewoman around Hightown. At least the elven girl hoped Revka meant Hightown, she had no intention to venture into Lowtown.

 “Would you please take me to the market in Hightown? We can tell Auntie that I would like to go pray at the Chantry if she asks anything. What do you think?”

 “Yes, after last night you should definitely tell your aunt you want to pray for some forgiveness.” Fallon snorted at her own quip, but Adahlena showed she was of a different mind, lightly hitting her in the side.

 “Oh child, that is truly a nice thought. I am sure Fallon will be more than happy to go with you. Halden!” she called one of the young Bowmans. “Would you be available to accompany the girls to the market? It is best for them not to leave the house alone.”

 The lad was taken aback and looked to Alessa, who had been following the whole conversation with a dark expression on her face, for approval. Revka was beaming in all directions, propping herself onto her knees and almost falling off the chair. Reluctantly, the housekeeper gestured her assent. Halden shrugged and signalled he was leaving to get ready. All attention focused back on Fallon.

 “Sure, I will go. My lady, could you please also take a look at the numerous flower bouquets on the table in the corner? They have been delivered for your attention. It would certainly save me the time to carry them all upstairs.”

 If Revka sensed the sarcasm in her tone, she gave no indication of it. Like a startled cat, she leapt out of her chair and sprinted, the hem of her shift revealing glimpses of feet jumping on the cold floor. For a few moments, the girl stood in front of the table, her hands hovering above the flowers as if she wanted to caress the petals but did not dare to. Finally satisfied with he evaluation of the bouquets, she made her way back to Fallon with two hanging precariously in her small arms. As Revka sat down, the elven girl had to catch one before it smashed on the floor. Observing the family crest stamped on the envelope tied to stems of the roses, Fallon smirked:

 “Red and white Winter roses from Reinhardt eh? It shocks me that he would pick the most expensive flowers and have the biggest crest on the envelope! And the smell, did he spray his mother’s perfume on the letter?”

  Revka giggled.  “Oh Fallon, there is no need to be so nasty. The roses are wonderful! They are all so wonderful. But you were wrong, they are not all for me, some are for Lea and some for auntie Bethann. I believe there is something from Guillaume in there. And some must be from Uncle Aris. So romantic! In fact, I am so pleased I received some too, they are so beautiful. I shall be glad to have them in the room, will you make sure to make them stay this beautiful for as long as you can?”

 Some help from must have been involved in keeping them _so beautiful._ Fallon frequently wondered how the whole of Hightown could keep up the pretense of eternal spring. Maybe being able to woo noble ladies with fresh cut flowers at any point of the year was what the Chantry intended with “magic exists to serve man”. Irritated by her thoughts, Fallon turned the envelope in her hands lazily trying to pinpoint where the strong scent of perfume came from. She began to question Revka about her intention to read the surely nauseating message inside. The words died in her mouth when she raised her eyes to observe the noble girl. Revka sat with a blanket of yellow primroses on her lap, eyes darting through the lines of the letter she held raised in front of her. There was no sign to identify the author other than the way the girl was biting her lips and furrowing her brow. Most likely some emotion infused bad poetry and half revealed feelings from that Carver boy. Fallon’s suspicions were confirmed when Revka abruptly got up, folding the piece of paper and hiding it into her sleeve.

 “I’ll go get dress. I’ll be down in no time! Remember the flowers!”.

 

Fallon only managed to shout half a piece of advice to choose something that would not attract too much attention before the door slammed. She slumped on the table and felt a hand kindly touching her shoulder.

 “Leave her dressing to me. She has some brown dresses that could be good. Try to get your strength up and find Halden. A breath of fresh air will do you some good.”

 

Fallon sighed at her mother’s words and set out to prepare herself. By the time she had collected all the orders from the other servants and all the words of caution from Alessa, Revka managed to join them again. The servant girl observed pleased the wise choice of clothing her mother had certainly coaxed the girl in. Standing next to the lanky Bowman boy under her dark cloak, the noble girl almost looked like a child. In silence, as if any word could alert Lady Bethann of their whereabouts, they crossed the tall stone door into the backyard and then into the city. The rain had cleaned Hightown, leaving only a pungent smell of salt that invaded Fallon’s nostrils as quickly as the cold crawled underneath her clothes. Revka seemed oblivious to it all, delighting herself with a game of her own invention that made her jump across the many puddles scattered on the stony street.

 “Cold, innit?” Halden commented, rubbing his gloveless hands and breathing hot hair onto them.

 Fallon rolled her eyes. “Astute observation.” The boy shrugged his shoulders and they said no more.

 The noble girl kept leading the small expedition. Her eyes were focused on capturing all the splashes created by her dainty boots hitting the water, yet she capably dragged them through the maze of streets. Hightown was still waking up, dark curtains and blinds observing the trio from the tall noble mansions. The lower floors were starting to buzz with activity: servants exiting the houses with faces painted with slumber and merchants placing the last items on their stalls still breathless from the climb from their modest homes in Lowtown. When they reached the main square, Fallon grabbed Revka and pulled her hood even tighter, forcing the girl to walk closer to her. They browsed many stalls. Fallon had no interest nor coin for the wares the dwarf with the pointy beard was promoting, her eye was not caught by the Orlesian silks or the shiny jewels unreachable in the shops under the arcade. Instead, she bought some wool for her mother, jasmine scented soap for Lia and some herbs that Mara Hartling had requested for the tea that helped her father with his bad gut.  Every time she opened her purse to reveal the coin the other servants had given her, she scanned the square for the city guards on patrol and shivered. The hood covered her ears, but could not hide her features.

 With cheeks reddened by the cold and eyes illuminated by excitement, Revka did not stop narrating with a soft voice all her thoughts about every single stall, cooing any time she found something she particularly liked. She was full of smiles and courtesies for the merchants and they were full of sweet words for her. Fallon stared at her, silently counselling her against any reckless and useless purchase the girl was tempted to do for herself. She did well at that. However, she was unsatisfiable in her search for some right for Leandra. Trailing behind the two like a loyal dog, Halden was a moving statue, carrying packages with a dispassionate expression and without a word. Perhaps he had picked up on Fallon’s lack of desire to hold a conversation with him. After purchasing the last sachet of spices for the Antivans, Fallon raised her head and realised a distinct lack of murmuring beside her. Halden tilted his head towards a side alley and she noticed Revka browsing wares at a music shop. Her hood had fallen down. The red hair made her noticeable, just as much as her pretty little face and naive demeanour. The elven girl muttered a curse under her breath and left in pursuit.

 

“Wait! My hands are quite full.”

 “Hurry up Bowman! Alessa is gonna skin us alive if we lose the fool.”

The old shopkeeper had noticed Revka, pointing with ample gestures of his hands to the lutes on the shelves outside his shop. He was not the only one to have done so. A dark tall man exited a building a few doors behind and raced towards the girl like a cat to its prey. He followed Revka and the shopkeeper inside the shop before Fallon could reach them. She again urged the footboy to hurry and they ran down the alley.

The shop was not large and it felt even smaller because of the incredible amount of musical instruments, books and other objects Fallon did not recognise that were stacked all around the room. She and Halden could not well fit into the chamber and remained stuck in front of the open door. Fallon analysed the stranger, who had approached the younger girl and was amiably conversing with her. He looked even more of a giant in the packed room and towered above Revka. Dark hair, dark eyes and dark clothes. The cut of his jacket was simple but the leather was of good quality, as was that of the sheat where he held a sword topped by a richly decorated pommel. His appearance marked him as a member of one of the Major Guilds, and one in an important position at least. No one from the Lower Guilds walked as if they owned Hightown.

 “Always running after the caprices of the young lady. That is at least your job, but it’s not mine. What fault do I have if she just runs off. I almost dropped everything.” Halden was cranky and Fallon was about to become even more so.

 “...shared a wonderful dance last night!” she heard Revka chirp at the man. She sighed, at least it was not a ill-intentioned stranger. Too young to be a Lord or a Guildmaster, but perhaps the son of one. Worry for the younger girl’s safety gave way to curiosity. It still left the matter of her honour, and with the Carver incident there was not much leeway for mistakes.

 “What brings you here, m’lady?”

 Again, she attempted to follow the conversation, but Halden, with renewed energy began his lamentations.

 “They made us work all night for the festivities and this morning we have to run around the city. All night cleaning, all night carrying drunk lords and ladies to their ponies and portantine and for what? I really wish Alessa gave at least some of us a free day, I sure as Andraste’s blessed could have used…”

 “You are always so quiet, why can’t you shut your trap the one moment when you really should?” Fallon whispered angrily. Halden finally made sense of the situation and joined her in observing the pair in front of them.

 

The man had moved closer to Revka and was showing her books from the shop’s collection. He requested something from the shopkeeper, who returned to the pair with some sheets wrapped in a leather folder. The stranger opened them, showing the content to a fascinated Revka. Some sort of explanation followed, but Fallon was distracted by a younger man, who came out of the same door Revka’s companion had. He was wearing a similar black attire, which made the pink flowers he carried look that much brighter. Halden shuffled closer to the wall to let him pass and thought no more of it, until they heard a shout from the shop.

 “Nildros, n’here!”

 This Nildros halted abruptly a few feet away from Fallon and returned to the shop. He stood awkwardly in the entryway while the noble grabbed the flowers and offered them to Revka.

 “I hope you will accept a little token for our dance last night. You caught me while I was making my way to the Amell estate to deliver these flowers myself.”

 Revka was unsurprisingly delighted. She accepted the bouquet with a small curtsy and a smile and excused herself to hand a silver piece to the shopkeeper. Both Nildros and his unnamed master nodded in their direction, expecting Fallon and Halden to move to allow them reach the square. His features were unmistakably handsome but unfamiliar. She did not like his sharp and cocky smile. Revka bounced out of the shop, with the sheets wrapped in yellow paper balanced under her arm and the bouquet of pink flowers sticking out of her bag.  

 “I found the present for Leandra!” she shouted triumphantly. “Serah Perrin helped me to find the music sheet for a wonderful new piece Lea should not have played yet. The lute always brings her such joice, it seemed like an apt gift for my intentions.”

 Fallon could not contain her curiosity any longer, so she enquired about his identity.

 “I am not sure.” Revka shrugged. “He was at the ball last night and we danced, but I do not know his surname or profession. Still, he was kind and the camellias he’s given me are wonderful!”

 Disappointed with the lack of resolution, Fallon pulled Revka’s hood back on and ushered the group to leave for the estate. The noble lady chattered away and the two servants followed in silence. Once at the house, Fallon made a stop in the hall to deposit the purchases for the other servants to collect. She spotted the primroses, still abandoned on the table from earlier in the morning. Revka had disappeared to her rooms with the camellias. The poor flowers. They needed a vase and water, so the servant girl resolved to take care of the matter.  When she reached the family wing of the palace, she found Revka chirping at her father about the day’s expedition. Lord Fausten’s smile for his daughter’s story was warm; his eyes were not. He sent her on her way with a caress and no admonition for her actions. Fallon could not say whether he did not care to listen or to educate.

Entering their apartments, they encountered Leandra sitting in her usual spot in the drawing room adjacent to the cousins’ bedroom. Still in her nightgown, one arm supporting her head, the other clutching a book she was not reading, she appeared as forlorn as the night before. Perhaps she did indeed have too much wine. She only noticed Revka once the red haired girl crouched next to her, gripping the arm of the chair with both hands.

 “Morning Lea.” she lifted herself on the tips of her feet to give her cousin a quick kiss on the cheek. “I have something for you.” She dropped the small package on Leandra’s lap, which the girl quickly unwrapped. “We went to the market this morning and I bought this music sheet for you. It was recommended as an exquisite melody and I thought it might improve your spirits.”

 “Oh Revka, you shouldn’t have! You know how angry Maman would be if she knew!” Despite her protestation, the soft smile on her face was sincere and her eyes jumped up and down the lines, already creating the melody in her thoughts. When the last page was turned, she shook her head and raised her head expectantly at the other two girls.

 “Shall we try it? Fallon, you could join me with your flute.”

 “I would not want to disturb your performance, my lady. Besides, I have much to do. Hearing you play will make my work tidying your room all the more pleasing.” the elf replied, already arranging the flowers in their vases.

 The lute was a permanent inhabitant of the drawing room; Leandra liked to find solace in her excellence at any hour of the day. She quickly grabbed it and then sat back in her chair studying the notes for a time. When she started playing, it was timid at first. Before long the notes cascaded from under her nimble fingers and filled the room with confidence. Fallon withdrew to the bedroom to begin her daily tasks. Before closing the door, she paused to appreciate the view of the girls. The two cousins were linked by a thread of rhythm and notes that was one creating the rhythm the other was following, swaying left and right surrounded by a cloud of pink camellias and yellow primroses. Unclear about the meaning of the emotions this scene stirred in her, Fallon shut the door behind herself.


End file.
